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“Curse on him !" quoth false S.

“ Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the toy “Heaven help him !” quoth La

“And bring him safe to shore For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before,”

Rejoicing to be free;
And whirling down, in fierce career,
Battlement and plank and pier,

Rushed headlong to the sea.
Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind, — Thrice thirty thousand foes before,

And the broad flood behind. “Down with him!” cried false Sextus,

With a smile on his pale face ; “Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena,

“Now yield thee to our grace !" Round turned he, as not deigning

Those craven ranks to see ; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,

To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus

The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river

That rolls by the towers of Rome :

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands ; Now round him throng the fathe

To press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapp

And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the river-gate

Borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn-land,

That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen

Could plough from morn tills And they made a molten image,

And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this da

To witness if I lie.

It stands in the comitium,

Plain for all folk to see, Horatius in his harness,

Halting upon one knee ; And underneath is written,

In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridg

In the brave days of old.

“O Tiber ! Father Tiber!

To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,

Take thou in charge this day!"
So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed

The good sword by his side,
And, with his harness on his back,

Plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank, But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes,

Stood gazing where he sank ; And when above the surges

They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany

Could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain, And fast his blood was flowing ;

And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor,

And spent with changing blows; And oft they thought him sinking,

But still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer,

In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood

Safe to the landing-place ; But his limbs were borne up bravely

By the brave heart within, And our good Father Tiber

Bare bravely up his chin.

And still his name sounds stirri

Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries

To charge the Volscian home And wives still pray to Juno

For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so w

In the brave days of old.

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north-winds b And the long howling of the wo

Is heard amidst the snow ; When round the lonely cottage

Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus

Roar louder yet within ;

When the oldest cask is opened,

And the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the

And the kid turns on the spit

'T is because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

• When young and old in circle

Around the firebrands close ; When the girls are weaving baskets,

And the lads are shaping bows; When the goodman mends his armor,

And trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily

Goes flashing through the loom ;
With weeping and with laughter

Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

“Rome shall perish — write that word

In the blood that she has spilt Perish, hopeless and abhorred,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

“Rome, for empire far renowned,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates !

SEMPRONIUS'S SPEECH FOR WAR.

“Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame. “ Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

“ Regions Cæsar never knew

Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they."

My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death? No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And at the head of our remaining troops Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon

him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bond

age. Rise! Fathers, rise ! 'tis Rome demands your help: Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Or share their fate! The corpse of half her senate Manures the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here deliberating, in cold debates, If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, Or wear them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia Point out their wounds, and cry aloud, — “To

battle !" Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged among us.

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JOSEPH ADDISON.

BOADICEA.

HERMANN AND THUSNELDA.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

(Hermann, or, as the Roman historians call him, Arminius, was a chieftain of the Cherusauns, a tribe in Northern Germany. After serving in Illyria, and there learning the Roman arts of warfare, he came back to his native country, and fought successfully for its independence. He defeated beside a defile near Detmold, in Westphalia, the Roman legions under Varus, with a slaughter so mortify. ing that the Proconsul is said to have killed himself, and Augustus to have received the catastrophe with indecorous expressions of grief.]

Sage beneath the spreading oak

Sat the druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke

Full of rage and full of grief.

HA! there comes he, with sweat, with blood of

Romans,
And with dust of the fight all stained ! 0, never

Saw I Hermann so lovely!
Never such fire in his eyes !

“Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,

I

Come! I tremble for joy ; hand me the Eagle, Was struck -struck like a dog - 1 And the red, dripping sword ! come, breathe, and The badge of Ursini ! because, fo rest thee;

He tossed not high his ready cap Rest thee here in my bosom ;

Nor lifted up his voice in servile Rest from the terrible fight !

At sight of that great ruffian ! I

And suffer such dishonor ? men, a Rest thee, while from thy brow I wipe the big The stain away in blood ! such shan drops,

I have known deeper wrongs. And the blood from thy cheek! that cheek,

ye how glowing !

I had a brother once, a gracious h Hermann! Hermann ! Thusnelda Full of all gentleness, of calmest Never so loved thee before !

Of sweet and quiet joy ; there wa

Of Heaven upon his face which li No, not then when thou first, in old oak-shadows, To the beloved disciple. How I With that manly brown arm didst wildly grasp me! That gracious boy ! younger by fi Spell-bound I read in thy look

Brother at once and son ! He lei That immortality, then,

A summer bloom on his fair cheel

Parting his innocent lips. In on Which thou now hast, won. Tell to the forests, The pretty, harmless boy was slai Great Augustus, with trembling, amidst his gods The corse, the mangled corse, and now,

For vengeance! Rouse, ye Roi Drinks his nectar; for Hermann,

ye slaves ! Hermann immortal is found !

Have ye brave sons ? — Look in

brawl “Wherefore curl'st thou my hair ? Lies' not our To see them die ! Have ye fair daug father

To see them live, torn from your al Cold and silent in death? O, had Augustus Dishonored; and, if ye dare call i Only headed his army,

Be answered by the lash! Yet t He should lie bloodier there!”

That sate on her seven hills, and fi

Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet Let me lift up thy hair ; 't is sinking, Hermalin ; Why, in that elder day to be a R Proudly thy locks should curl above the crown Was greater than a king! And or now!

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to Sigmar is with the immortals !

Of either Brutus ! once again I Follow, and mourn him no more! The eternal city shall be free !

MARY RUS

KLOPSTOCK. Translation of

CHARLES T. BROOKS.

MAKE WAY FOR LIB

RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.

(On the exploit of Arnold Winkelried at the b which the Swiss, fighting for their independen the Austrians, in the fourteenth century.]

“MAKE way for Liberty !" Made way for Liberty, and died

FRIENDS!
I came not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves !
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves ! he sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave! Not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame,
But base, ignoble slaves ! slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords
Rich' in some dozen paltry villages,
Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great
In that strange spell, - a name ! Each hour, dark

fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day
An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands,

In arms the Austrian phalan.
A living wall, a human wood !
A wall, where every conscious s
Seemed to its kindred thousand
A rainpart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames sh
A wood, like that enchanted gri
In which with fiends Rinaldo st
Where every silent tree possesse
A spirit prisoned in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming
Would startle into hideous life

So dense, so still, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood !
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears,
Whose polished points before them shine,
From flank tó flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendors run
Along the billows to the sun.

Unmarked he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by the uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But 't was no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won :

“Make way for Liberty !” he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp; Ten spears he swept within his grasp.

Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land : Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords, And what insurgent rage had gained In many a mortal fray maintained ; Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, They came to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquered, he who fell, Was deemed a dead, or living Tell ! Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod.

"Make way for Liberty !" he cried ; Their keen points met from side to side ; He bowed amongst them like a tree, And thus made way for Liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly; “Make way for Liberty !" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart; While, instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free ; Thus death made way for Liberty !

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath ; The fire of conflict burnt within, The battle trembled to begin ; Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was nowhere found, Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed ; That line 't were suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet, — How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes the homes of slaves ? Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head ?

SWITZERLAND.

WILLIAM TELL.

It must not be : this day, this hour, . Annihilates the oppressor's power ; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she cannot yield, — She must not fall ; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the nunber she could boast; Bnt every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he On whose sole arm hung victory.

ONCE Switzerland was free! With what a pride
I used to walk these hills, – look up to heaven,
And bless God that it was so ! It was free
From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free!
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun !
How happy was I in it, then ! I loved
Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat
In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake,
The stars went out, and down the mountain

gorge The wind came roaring, -- I have sat and eyed | The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled

To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own.

JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

It did depend on one indeed ; Behold him, - Arnold Winkelried ! There sounds not to the trump of fame The echo of a nobler name.

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